Preparing for tomorrow’s season opener… Besides making sure we have the shells we need, everything is charged, deciding where we’ll go, I’ve also been going through photos from last season and reminiscing more about it. Tomorrow, it will be out with the old and in with the new season. Here are some of my favorite moments plus some short video clips from the 2017/2018 chukar season.
We hope everyone out there has a wonderful season. Good luck!
Was it Einstein who defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over and over, always expecting different results? Chukar hunting might expose some holes in ol’ Einstein’s inference.
Last weekend I busted major hump looking for chukar in some spectacular habitat which, in seasons past, has held good numbers of coveys. Angus found one covey and I blew the one shot I got. A little pissed, driving home, we rounded a corner near another place I’ve hiked with decent luck and noticed this: a fat guy not more than 50 yards from his pickup shooting straight up the basalt cliffs. Chukar tumbled down the rocky cliffs like rain, much to the chagrin of his giant white poodle who’d run up and sniff the dead birds and whirl away in disgust like Oscar Wilde power-scorning an undercooked scone.
Today we bee-lined it for the fat guy spot but another couple had gotten there first and appeared to be returning from their hunt. So we drove a drainage over and headed uphill. When I crested the first ridge and realized the habitat we’d committed ourselves to was vastly inferior to Fat Guy Gulch, I got pissed, yelled at Angus, kicked a rock, and incensed Leslie with my childish behavior. “Total waste of time, not gonna be a single f-ing bird here,” I blurted. Two minutes later, and only twenty minutes into our hike, heading back to the pickup, Angus pointed. A large covey exploded, and I nailed one bird, which Angus brought back. We pursued the busted birds and Angus relocated them within ten minutes. I got another. Ten minutes later we were in the pickup heading back to the fat guy’s spot since the early bird couple were long gone. Angus and I hiked hard for 2-1/2 hours in awesome habitat and saw one piece of semi-fresh chukar poo. Not a bird was seen nor heard.
It doesn’t matter, and you truly never know. Just go. Be insane. Do the same thing over and over and over and the results will always differ, despite the best of your intentions.
Opening weekend came and went, and we’re still vibrating from it. We camped in Oxbow the night before opening day, greeted by a big sow bear as soon as we beached the boat. We waited a while, not sure if we should look for another cove, and then two cinnamon cubs appeared, and the train left the station. So we tied up, and enjoyed the stars, all night long, courtesy of Angus’s nearly constant woofing at things going bump in the night. We also learned that Oxbow (and probably most reservoirs) reduce the water level at night, because we awoke about 1:30 a.m. to our boat listing about 45-degrees. When it finally got light, Leslie and I eagerly prepared coffee fixings, only to realize we forgot a crucial part of the stove. As hardcore addicts, we fiddled about to create some heinous caffeinated beverage to dispel the certain migraine-like headaches that would have set in without our morning fix. Note to self. Remember stuff like that next time.
But what about the hunting? Opening day was tough, but we saw three coveys. The first numbered at least 40 birds. I knocked one down and Angus got it. We saw two more large coveys (20+ birds) in the next two hours, but they busted early, probably because we were pursuing them across huge scree fields and must have appeared like Brahmas in the China shop. It was awesome, though, to explore new, heavily birded terrain and see lots of birds. Especially after last year. I think I hunted four times before bagging a chukar last year.
The next day we took the boat onto Brownlee and found a nice cove with decent access to a dirt road. Angus pointed just above the water level after being out only a few minutes. We followed the birds across a few little finger ridges near the water (cow trails on precipitous slopes), and Angus pointed again. I managed a double, but was only able to recover one bird, which is always incredibly aggravating. (Later, we returned to the area and found what I believe was that bird, which must have only been lightly wounded because it blasted up a draw right where I thought it should be; y’all know that when a chukar busts uphill the chances of finding it are slim to none and slim left town).
We hiked a lot and saw amazing new terrain. Since it was really warm it made sense that the first birds we saw were so close to the water, especially since there’s no greenup yet: no food higher up, and scarce water. But we came to a watering trough near a spring, and – sure enough – there was a large covey just next to it, and I managed one of this year’s small birds, which was so small that at first I thought it was a Hungarian partridge when Angus retrieved it.
We heard lots of calling, saw healthy-sized coveys, and are excited to head back out next weekend. I’m grateful to have a few days of rest (if you can call teaching 7th through 12th graders English “rest”) before next time.
